008. Sophie

As per tradition on LJ, I would disappear for months and then update like 4 times in a week. SO DON'T BE ALARMED, THIS IS NORMAL SO FAR LOL.

But anyway.

For the past eight months I've been working two jobs, which means I was usually working seven days a week. I was generally getting 1-2 days off a month. But today was my last day at my weekend job, and..... it's one of those things like, I'm burnt out and I want more time to myself to do things I want to do creatively? But at the same time I'm always worried that depression will get a foothold if I don't keep myself busy. SO !! Going into it with my eyes open, hopefully I can keep it at bay.

So the weekend job I had was newborn photography in the hospital. It was okay. It was shit money but I liked the work. I'm not super into babies. I don't want kids. This job didn't kick in some dormant maternal instinct or anything. But they were okay. I liked working with them. There's something very humbling about meeting people on the first few days of their lives. They're these precious blank slates and I felt like I loved each of them. I would have to cuddle them and rock them to get them to calm down sometimes and it was such an overwhelming feeling of trust to hold these vulnerable little creatures.


I wanted to post a thing I wrote back in May, since it's just been collecting dust in my hard drive and we're in here now. It's about a baby I had at work.

The thing about this job that never occurs to anybody is that sometimes the babies die. And sometimes the family still wants photos, because it's the only opportunity they'll have. I personally made it through my eight months only getting two, but it happens more often than most people realize. No one wants to talk about babies dying, no one wants to admit it. It's something so awful that we don't know how to. I was only working weekends, so getting two makes sense. I would say on average I noticed a couple a month, and that's only accounting for families who wanted pictures. Sometimes they don't, and they make it in and out of the hospital totally off our radar.



The two I had didn't necessarily upset me, I wouldn't say. For some reason I'm a mess about the weirdest anxiety bullshit but then Actual Things don't phase me at all. Thanks, brain. I know some of my coworkers would get really upset by doing them and they'd cry after. I didn't feel emotional at all, but I couldn't get them out of my head for days after. It didn't feel like trauma, though, it felt more like reverence. Just thoughtfulness. Looking death in the face just makes you a little deeper for a while. And holding a dead baby is such an intense tactile experience that I could still feel them in my hands for days after. I'd stare at my palms and think about how cold the skin was, and how delicate they were. How their little faces could rip like paper if you weren't careful.



It feels weird that I was able to experience this and see behind this curtain that most people don't. I'm not sure why life works like this, like what gave me the right. I can't know. Most people go through their whole lives without ever meeting a dead baby, you know? But I had that one weekend job the year I was 29 where I photographed demises and met freshly bereaved mothers and had to take deep breaths so that my hands wouldn't shake because their bodies were so delicate and I didn't want to break them.



So that said. I had to write it down both times just to get it out of my head. I might as well share it. It's kind of messy stream of consciousness stuff. I've considered revising it and making it neat but I haven't figure out a good reason to, so whatever. Anyway. Here we go.


( this was about the first one, her name was Sophie )